


A Sleeping Serpent

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - House Swap, Canon Disabled Character, Dornish!Sansa, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Martell!Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: AU. Sansa Martell tends to Willas Tyrell after her uncle Oberyn accidentally cripples him. Oberyn has some things to say about that.





	A Sleeping Serpent

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the valar_morekinks prompt: "Sansa Martell/Willas. Sansa Martell nurses Willas after his fall. They fall in love." This is mostly silly.

“Sweet niece, how long has it been since you last slept? The maesters say there's no infection, all he needs is rest. You need not stand guard all night.”

Sansa is so tired it takes her a few moments to register her uncle Oberyn has entered the room. “You're one to be telling me what to do,” she says, admonishing him was as haughty a glare as she can muster through her half-closed eyes. “You're the one who caused us this problem.”

Oberyn sighs, conceding the point. “True. But you know I did not mean too.” Of course she knows that. She loves her uncle dearly, and knows he would never do such a cruel thing to a good man on purpose. A less good man, however...

“Someone ought to be here in any case,” she says. “Lest the Reachmen convince themselves we have taken their heir away to torture him to death in our dungeons.”

Oberyn raises an eyebrow. “Sweetling, if you wish to fight, you should have told me. Or have my daughters been teaching you behind my back?”

Sansa rolls her eyes. The Sand Snakes did try once, for which she's grateful, and she learned a few basic moves with a knife, but in truth she has neither a talent for nor an interest in violence. “Not all off us solve our problems with a spear,” she says. “I would simply like to show them how well he is being cared for.”

He grins at her. “And given the most beautiful maid in all Dorne in compensation?”

“Uncle!” Sansa blushes deeply, making him laugh at her. She huffs in irritation. “Yes, that's just what we need, to convince his people that we've sent some wicked Dornish vixen to seduce him.”

“Oh come now, I don't think even the Reach could think my lovely niece a vixen.” Sansa blushes deeper at that. Oberyn always calls her the most beautiful maid in Dorne, but she suspects that says less of her beauty and more of the lack of maids in Dorne. She was raised on songs and storybooks, and she knows what it has made her: sweet, naïve, and chaste. In any other realm of the Seven Kingdoms, she'd be all a lady should be. Here, she is an outsider. It's not as if she's never thought of it, as if she doesn't look at her sister and cousins and her uncle's paramour with a sense of curiosity, of envy – but she couldn't. It's not as if she loves them any less for their lack of chastity, but it's just not... her. She's often wondered if she would be better off if she were fostered or married somewhere else, somewhere the women were more like her, but she knows her family would never allow it, not after what happened to her aunt Elia. Oberyn sighs to himself. “Well, at least Lord Willas should take comfort that I haven't ruined his pretty face. He can still ensnare a maiden in a heartbeat, it seems.”

“I have not been ensnared!” she insists, and Oberyn grins as if he doesn't believe a word of it. “I'm simply making sure he heals, that's all.” She has no skill for violence but she does have great skill for healing – in truth, she mostly learnt cleaning up her cousins' messes.

“And I'm sure he will be most thankful for your expert care, and most eager to show you his gratitude.”

Sansa blushes deeper. She loves her uncle dearly, but he does live to embarrass her, it seems. “He's far too old for me,” she insists.

“In my experience,” says Oberyn, “an older man is just what you need at the beginning. Someone who can show you how to take your pleasure from him, and take more than thirty seconds to spend his seed inside you.”

“ _Uncle_!”

Oberyn laughs again. “Relax, my sweet, I only tease. I know you would not do such a thing. Still, even a maid such as yourself couldn't protest giving him a single kiss? Come now, I know how you love your stories. Should not you try performing an act of true love to wake him from his slumber?”

She blushes even deeper. “That's just a stupid story,” she says, and he raises an eyebrow again. That story was one of her favourites as a child, and she knows he remembers how many times she made him tell it to her. “He's not under a spell, he's just sleeping. He's been injured, and he needs his rest. I don't wish to disturb him. Or take advantage of him.”

And Oberyn smiles fondly at her. “Of course not. My dear niece.” And he walks forward and presses a kiss upon her hair. Whenever she feels weak and silly, whenever she feels she should be more like her sister Arianne, or her cousins, uncle Oberyn is quick to reassure her.  _I love all the women in my life in their own way,_  he tells her,  _and you, Sansa, I love your gentle heart. Never let anyone take that from you. Especially not me._  He's never said so aloud, but Sansa wonders sometimes if she reminds him of his sister. “But do promise you will sleep.”

She smiles and nods, and then he leaves her. She sighs, looking back down at the wounded Tyrell heir. Uncle Oberyn is right, she ought to sleep – it's not as if she expects anything to happen tonight. He doesn't actually need her looking over him. And yet, she can't quite bring herself to leave – he looks so vulnerable... Her uncle wasn't quite right; he isn't  _pretty_  per se, not like his sister and youngest brother were, but there is a certain subdued handsomeness to him. It is strange he remains unwed, when she thinks about it.

After a moment, he stirs. “He's quite right you know,” he says. “I wouldn't want you to be exhausted because of me.”

Sansa jumps in her seat. “You're awake!” she exclaims.

Lord Willas nods. “I am,” he says, slowly pushing himself up on his elbows, hissing in pain as he does so. He casts an eye towards the door. “Your uncle seems a good man,” he muses. “At least, he seems to love you very much.”

“He does,” Sansa says. Admittedly she's less sure about the 'good man' part. “I hope you know he did not do this on purpose, I know you must have heard terrible things about us Dornishmen but–”

“Your uncle fought me honourably, and that fall could have happened no matter who my opponent was. It wasn't his fault. Don't worry, I know.” He smiles at her a moment, and then looks down towards his leg sadly. The wound is now covered with a white cotton blanket, but that hardly fixes anything. She ought to distract him with some song or game, she's good at that sought of thing, but before she can a thought springs to mind.

“Wait, how much of our conversation did you hear?”

He looks back up at her, and though, as if he can't quite help it, he gives the tiniest of smirks. “A little.”

Sansa blushes again, mortified. “I-I'm so sorry my lord, it's just, my uncle, he loves to tease me and–”

“It's quite alright, my lady,” Willas says. Then he chuckles. “You know, I've never seen a Dornish woman blush before.”

Sansa blushes deeper at that, and looks down to the floor. “I suppose I'm not really what you'd expect of a Dornish woman,” she mutters.

“Well, in all but one regard,” says Willas, and she looks up again. “You're just as beautiful as I expected.”

She squawks in embarrassment at that, and indignantly slaps his arm. “I see you and Uncle Oberyn mean to be friends despite this!” she says. “You'll team up and plot to tease me!”

Willas laughs. “Forgive me, princess, I meant you no embarrassment.” Liar, she almost calls him, but he has a terrible honest face. “I only wished to speak true.”

She blushes even deeper. “Oberyn thinks I ought to kiss you,” she says. “Right now I think I'd rather slap your face.”

“Well you are a princess, and myself only a humble jouster. Whatever you would prefer.”

_His jousting days are now behind him._  That is a sad thought though, and Sansa doesn't want to dwell on it. He is kind though, and honest, a true gentleman, and well – perhaps her uncle is not so unwise?

In a moment of recklessness, she leans forward and kisses him.

It's hardly much of a kiss, just the briefest, driest press of lips against lips.  _Come now, sweetling, I know you can do better,_  she almost hears Oberyn saying. And yet when she pulls back to look at Lord Willas, his eyes have gone wide with shock, and a pink blush rises to his cheeks.

“Oh,” he says, and she smiles, pleased to have taken him by surprise.

Then she kisses him again.

 


End file.
